Like Heaven To Me
by S1CKSAVAGE
Summary: Buttercup tried to commit suicide, but things didn't go the way they were supposed to. Oneshot. Rated T for self harm.


**ssssssssuuuuuUUUUUpPppPp**

**I decided to upload this fic because I haven't uploaded anything in months. I also didn't update that other fic I started recently (a while ago) because I simply couldn't come up with something to write.**

**I actually had no idea what this was going to be. I didn't have a plot in my head or anything. I just started writing, and went along with everything that popped up in my mind. But to be honest, I kinda like how it turned out. Even though Butch and Buttercup are a bit out of character. Oh well.**

**Enjoy. I'm not sure if I'll leave it at this, or if I'll upload another chapter. Meh. You decide.**

**- I don't own the characters used in this story, just the plot-**

Buttercup stared into nowhere. A cold breeze gently caressed her face as she clenched her fists. She exhaled, her warm breath formed a tiny cloud before it faded into the dark night. She looked down, opened the tiny note that she held in her hand and reread it again.

_Friends. Family. Citizens of Townsville. Everyone who has ever cared about me._

_I don't know where to start. I just feel like I'm going mad. I have no purposes in life and I feel like I'm losing my mind._

_I'm just... here. Criminals stopped harassing the city, so I became useless. I dropped out of high school, so I can't achieve anything. I don't have a future. I don't feel like I want a future. Everyday is the same. I'm getting sick of everything. The things I loved to do became dull. Food is losing it's taste. Being around happy people is killing me. I'm nearly dead. Now I just need to finish myself off._

_I'm sorry._

She folded the paper back up and stuffed it into her back pocket. Then she looked back up.

How many steps does it take to fall off this building?

She estimated it. Four. Maybe five.

Swallowing the saliva in the back of her throat, she started walking.

One. Two.

She tried to empty her head. She wanted her last seconds to be peaceful. Her poisoned thoughts slowly poured out of her head.

Three.

She closed her eyes, slowly inhaled and exhaled. She stopped trembling. She was at peace now.

Four.

She put her left foot right next to her other one. She could feel her toes hanging off the edge of the building, but didn't want to open her eyes.

Five.

Losing her balance, she spread her arms. And when she started falling forward, she knew that it was over. And then fear overtook her.

She'd never thought about what death will be like. She just wanted to get rid of her shit life, and that was everything on her mind. Will she endlessly wander around with nowhere to go? Will she go to heaven, or hell? Will she get reincarnated? Will this bullshit start all over again?

She opened her eyes. She couldn't fly back up, the shock was too much. What has she done?

Two warm, big hands grabbed her wrists. Buttercup hung off the edge of the building, face forward, arms being held back. Huh?

As she got pulled back up, she tried to look over her shoulder. And when both of her feet were on the roof again, she turned around.

Her eyes widened, and she swore that she felt her heart stop for a second or two. The last person she thought she'd see tonight.

"...Bu...tch...?" she managed to choke out. Butch blinked, his lifeless green eyes piercing right through her.

Buttercup swallowed. She couldn't tell if either she was afraid of him, or still shocked by the fact that she just tried to kill herself. Either way, she was glad that she wasn't alone at the moment.

She could still feel Butch's strong grip burn on her skin, even though he already let go of her wrists.

She looked down at her wrists, and back up at Butch, whose eyes were still focused on her, as if he couldn't look at anything else.

"Are you lost?"

Buttercup blinked, surprised by the fact that he asked such a stupid question at such an awkward moment.

"No, I'm not." Of course she wasn't lost. She knows the city just as good as her house. Why would he ask such a thing?

"Are you sure?" He asked, still staring at her with those eyes. Buttercup shifted from one leg to the other. What did he mean, 'Are you sure'? She sounded pretty sure, even though her voice trembled a little. Okay, it was shaky as fuck, but it was still a dumb thing to ask.

"Y-ye..." Her voice just vanished like that. A horrible feeling arose in the pit of her stomach and her knees became jelly. Realization hit her. She was afraid of death. She hated life, and she was afraid of death. What the fuck is this?

"But you look pretty lost." Butch leaned towards her to intensify his stare. Buttercup shivered. She bit her lip and looked down. Now she got what he meant. He didn't mean the city at all.

She nervously played with her fingers as she felt him inch even closer. A few seconds passed, and she glanced up at him. He was so dangerously close. It was as if he was leaning in to lock lips with her, but stopped. His minty breath tickled her skin and she could feel the warmth of his hands on her sides burn through her shirt.

"You're scared of me, aren't you?"

His lips gently brushed against Buttercup's when he finished his sentence, even though he didn't intend to do that. And even though she only felt his lips for a short second, she noticed that they also were warm, like his hands.

But she didn't reply. She still wasn't sure.

Butch still stared at her. She looked slightly past him, afraid to look him in the eyes.

But then he let go of her and turned around.

"I'll leave you alone then."

Buttercup watched him walk away. The absence of the heat that he radiated made her feel cold. The absence of Butch self made her feel alone and even more lost than she already was.

She counted his steps. One. Two.

Three.

Fou-

"Butch!" She cried out. The loudness of her own voice startled her a little.

Butch stopped walking, but didn't bother to turn around. "What is it?"

"I have no idea where you're going, and I don't even care where you're going, but please...", she paused after she heard her voice crack. "...take me with you."

Butch raised his eyebrows and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked over his shoulder.

"Oh?" Was all he said. Buttercup let her shoulders hang as she hopelessly stared at the ground.

She didn't even know Butch. All she knew about him was his name, age, and the fact that she murdered the guy once. She didn't know him at all. He was mysterious and a bit scary, but he just gave her this feeling that could almost be described as 'safe'.

"I'm going home." Butch said after he exhaled. Buttercup desperately stared at him, feet nailed to the roof.

He looked forward again and continued walking.

"B-Butch-"

"Are you coming with me, or not?" He asked, stopping once again. He sounded slightly irritated, and this startled Buttercup a little.

But she didn't hesitate to run after him.

Butch fumbled a little with the keys before he unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Buttercup in. Without a word, Buttercup took a few small steps into the hallway, not sure if she should take her shoes off or not.

She looked around for a second. His house was bigger than she expected. A lot neater, too.

She glanced at Butch as he locked the front door behind him. She didn't really expect his house to look like this. Maybe he doesn't live alone.

Butch hung his jacket on a coathanger and lazily kicked his shoes off. Buttercup's eyes followed him around.

The dim hallway light gave her the opportunity to have a good look at his face after a long time.

He was handsome, was the first thing that popped up in her mind. Really fucking handsome. She never expected one of Townsville's biggest ex-villains to look like a successful Vogue model.

Cracking a small smile, she blew her bangs out of her face as she reached down to untie her shoes. He's probably dating someone. That would explain why his house isn't a dump.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Buttercup asked, before she slapped herself in the face for letting that god damn sentence roll past her lips.

Butch looked at her for a second. She swore that she saw the corners of his lips curl a little, as if he wanted to laugh but tried not to.

"Are you mocking me?" He asked with a slightly amused tone.

"Not at all. You're pretty hot, so I thought-" Buttercup slapped herself in the face again before she could even finish her sentence. Muttering "Nevermind", she continued taking her shoes off.

"Right. I want some coffee." Butch said, walking past the blackhaired girl. Her eyes lit up at the word 'Coffee'. Coffee. She really craved that right now.

She slid her last shoe from her heel and neatly placed it next to her other one, next to Butch's. Then she quickly followed Butch into the living room on her socks.

She awkwardly sat down on a black leather couch that was a lot more comfortable than it seemed. A few minutes passed, and Butch appeared again, with a cup of hot steamy coffee in his hands. He was just about to sit down, but then he noticed that he didn't get Buttercup anything.

"Ah, I'm not used to having people over." He mumbled as he disappeared again. Buttercup raised her eyebrows. Townsville's Vogue villain is making her a cup of coffee.

Butch came back after a short minute passed. He handed her the cup and sat down on the other couch.

An awkward silence arose as they both took a sip in sync. Buttercup suddenly felt nauseous. She was at her evil counterpart's house in her weakest state, after trying to commit suicide. It felt so weird. And the fact that she had nowhere to go now made her feel even worse. She had a big fight with her sisters today, and that was one of the things that pushed her over the edge and made her try to kill herself. Her sisters caught her cutting her wrists. They yelled at her, for 'exaggerating'. "You don't have a reason to harm yourself, Buttercup." They said. "You don't have a reason to act this way. You're exaggerating. Just because you're worthless doesn't mean that you should fucking cut yourself, Buttercup. You probably just want attention. You want attention, because nobody has given you any since all the criminals were gone."

And she wanted to jump. It wasn't just because she was depressed. She also wanted her sisters to feel bad. And that thought, the thought that she wanted her sisters to feel guilty for the rest of their lives, was sickening.

She bit her lip. Tears rolled over her cheeks.

She was fucking sick.

"I have no idea how to comfort a crying girl, so here's a blanket." Butch said with a monotone voice, putting a blanket over Buttercup's body. Buttercup couldn't help but smile through her tears at his awkwardness.

"You could have just given me a hug."

"A what?"

"A hug."

A few seconds passed, and Butch still stared at Buttercup, like a dog that stares at his owner after he realized that the ball he had thrown didn't exist at all.

Buttercup stretched her arms out, signing at Butch that he had to lean forward. He did, and she pulled him into a hug.

She dreamily sighed at how comfortably warm he was. Perfect to cuddle up against on a cold winter night. She liked that thought.

Butch pulled away, disappointing Buttercup a little. He sat back down and grabbed his cup again.

"You really shouldn't kill yourself." He suddenly said, startling Buttercup a little.

"Huh?"

"I don't know how fucked up your life is, but I'm sure that death is way worse. Trust me."

Then Buttercup suddenly realized something. Butch has been dead once. She killed him, and he has been revived by Satan himself. He knows what death is like. Could she... ask him?

"Can I ask you something?" She asked with a quiet voice. Butch looked up and gave her a nod.

"Shoot."

"Can you... tell me what it's like?"

"Dying?"

"Being dead."

"Oh."

Butch thought for a second. "I can't really describe it."

Buttercup sighed. Butch knew something that not many people knew. It would be great if he could share it with her.

"...Try it." She said. She had to know what she was afraid of.

"Don't push me!" Butch yelled right after she finished her sentence. Buttercup's eyes widened. Slightly taken aback, she pulled her legs up and rested her head on her knees. She shouldn't have asked him. It's probably a hard thing to talk about.

The weird nauseous feeling became worse and she sighed.

Moments passed.

She felt an awkward warm hand on her head.

"...Hey."

His voice was insecure and soft.

"Sorry... I'm not... used to human interaction."

A few seconds passed and he laughed. Then he muttered "It sounds fucking weird when I say it out loud."

Buttercup didn't respond.

"Hey."

His hand slid from her head to her neck, to her shoulder. Then he placed his other hand on her other shoulder and violently shook her.

"Are you fucking dead or something? Earth to Buttercup, is somebody home?"

Buttercup chuckled. "I've noticed that you're bad at interacting with other people. Making death-jokes after somebody tried to kill herself isn't really an appropriate thing to do."

"Don't blame me. I've been alone for years. I don't know that kind of shit."

Buttercup looked up. She opened her mouth to ask him why, but shut it again, not wanting him to snap at her like he just did.

"I could tell you why, but I don't think you give a fuck." He said, looking through a window on his left.

"Actually, I do give a fuck," Buttercup replied. "I give a lot of fucks. Maybe too many fucks."

"Oh."

Butch opened his mouth, but closed it again. "I don't know where to start."

"Maybe from the beginning?"

Butch sighed. "I'll try."

Then he laid back on the couch. "Well...", he started, glancing at Buttercup who was staring at him in anticipation, "When I just got revived, me and my brothers did a lot of crazy shit. Like, robbing stores and fucking things up because it was fun, and we were a bit twisted. But oh well."

His eyes rolled back to her face. "But there was something wrong with me. You've probably noticed how twitchy and hyperactive I was, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I was completely fucked up. It all started with a few twitches, but as I got older, I started having really aggressive seizures and stuff. And I think you know that flying plus seizures equals shit."

"Yeah."

"So I had those seizures. At really unfortunate times. Like, in the middle of a robbery. I kept ruining everything. And then I got sick of it. I didn't want to bother my brothers anymore. So I ran away."

Buttercup was silent.

"I've had these suicidal thoughts too, you know," he continued. "Constantly, to be honest. But I knew what death was like. And being dead was even more shitty than being alive. So I was trapped. I hated everything. Still do. But I couldn't do anything about it. Depression ruined me even more. I became isolated and avoided contact with other people..."

He sat back up.

"...you're the first one I've talked to in years."

Buttercup blinked a few times.

"Why?" She asked. Butch stared at her.

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

Butch shrugged. "You were about to kill yourself. Simply couldn't let you do that to yourself."

"Then tell me why, god damn it!" Buttercup yelled. "What is death like?! Why is it so fucking horrible?! Tell me!"

Before Butch knew it, Buttercup was already on him, grabbing his collar and getting ready to punch him.

He grinned.

"Do you really think that if you use force, I'll tell you everything I know? Are you that fucking retarded?"

Buttercup's glare weakened. She stared at him. Her eyes became watery, her lips parted. Tears rolled over her reddening cheeks again and she started sobbing. She just wanted to know what she was afraid of.

Butch frowned. He really sucked at comforting people. A crying girl was already hard to comfort, then what did he do with a crying girl in his lap?

He sighed and awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close, let her head rest on his shoulder and waited until her shoulders stopped shaking.

And so they sat there. As he ran his hand through her hair, he tilted his head back and sighed.

The first time he poured his heart out to someone.

And that someone actually gave a fuck. Maybe too many fucks.

Buttercup opened her eyes a little when she felt her head touch a pillow. A bright light made her narrow her eyes a little, but it quickly disappeared when the door shut.

She was alone.

She blinked a few times as she rolled over to her side. When her eyes got used to the dark, she noticed that she was in a bedroom. Then she looked down, and noticed that she was just wearing a big sweater that wasn't even hers.

Oh, Butch changed her clothes.

Wait, what?

Her face turned red and she looked underneath the sweater. Her underwear. She panicked.

The fact that he had seen her in her underwear wasn't even the problem. Heck, she didn't even care about that right now.

But the fact that he had seen all her scars, that's what made her panic. She wasn't proud of them. So she didn't want anyone to see them.

She literally fucked her whole body up. Her wrists, her arms, her stomach, her thighs. He had seen them all.

Buttercup quietly cursed. She got up and tiptoed towards the door. She slightly opened it and peeked through the opening, down the hall. The dim light of the tv lit up the hallway, and she could see Butch lean against the wall next to a window, nonchalantly holding a cigarette between his lips.

She pushed the door further open and slowly walked down the hall. Slowly. Slow-

"Buttercup?"

Buttercup quickly opened a random door, ran through the opening and shut it. She was too ashamed to face him.

Her hand slid down the knob she was holding and she felt a lock. It was a bathroom.

She ran her fingertips over the walls, looking for a lightswitch. She found one, and flicked it on.

The light flickered a few times before it lit the whole bathroom up. She turned around and walked over to a mirror.

She laughed. She looked so awful that it was somewhat funny.

She reached down to the sink to splash her face with water, but then she froze.

Razorblades. Multiple razorblades were sprawled around, all of them stained with blood. ...What? Did Butch really...?

Her eyes nervously darted around. No, it can't be. Maybe he just sucks at shaving...

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Buttercup?"

She quickly turned around when Butch knocked on the door.

"J-Just a second..."

She stared at the door. Should she open it? She can't stay in here forever.

She counted her own footsteps again when she walked over to the door.

One. Two. Three.

Her hand nervously hovered over the lock. Fuck.

She took a deep breath and almost aggressively pulled the door open.

They stared at each other. Both looking nervous and ashamed.

They were silent for a long moment. Then they both spoke up at the same time.

"You saw them, didn't you?" They said in unison.

Their eyes didn't leave each other.

"What? Are you going to lecture me now?" They said, once again, in unison.

They were silent again.

A long minute of staring passed. As if they were having a non-verbal conversation.

Then Buttercup reached out for Butch's hand.

She let her thumbs slide over his palm. Then she slowly rolled his sleeve up.

Oh, his arm looked like a battlefield. His scars were deeper, longer than Buttercup's. They also looked quite weird, as if he coated them in salt after cutting.

She held his hand as her other hand slid over his veins. She traced his marks with her fingers. Gently.

Butch looked at her. Eyes slightly widened, lips parted. His eyes rolled back to her hands, and Buttercup heard him breathe faster.

"Buttercu-"

"Butch." She cut him off, intensifying her stare.

He nervously swallowed the saliva in the back of his throat when she did the same to his other arm.

She traced each scar with her finger. Painfully slow, like she was trying to read them. Like she was actually reading them.

Her eyes were still locked with his. He could see the pain in her foggy neon green eyes. Like she was reliving every time he pressed the blade against his skin with him. It was so real. And Butch couldn't tell if he was torn or glad that somebody finally somewhat understood him for the first time.

He grabbed her hand and held it up high, so that her arm was right in front of his face. The sleeve of the big sweater slowly slid down, revealing her damaged pale skin. He brought his lips to her arm and kissed her scars. Every single one.

Buttercup carefully watched him. The odd nauseous feeling in her stomach faded.

It turned into butterflies. Was it because she was nervous? Ashamed? In love?

With his eyes closed, his lips slowly moved down her arm. It felt like he was healing them. It felt like he accepted her.

Her face heated up, tears stung at the back of her eyes. Butch kissed the last scar, and moved away. After he glanced one last time at her arm, he locked eyes with her.

"I.. I-I..." Buttercup didn't know what to say. A tear finally managed to roll down her cheek and she blinked a few times before looking away, letting more tears follow.

She felt a hand caress her cheek. Butch pushed some strands of hair behind her ear and gently lifted her face.

They stared into each others orbs, for the millionth time that night.

"This is the biggest scar," Butch said, running his thumb over her lips. "You've told everyone that you're okay, that you're the happiest fucking person ever. But you're not."

Buttercup replied with a stifled sob.

Butch leaned forward. He stared at her face, her red cheeks and red eyes. Their noses touched, they could feel each others breath tickle on their skin. Butch stopped leaning in, as if he hesitated.

It wasn't because he hasn't kissed someone in years. It was because he just wanted to look at her. The only person that understood him. The only one who could make his dark thoughts fade away. That person turned out to be her, his arch nemesis.

He suddenly pressed his lips against hers, with maybe a little too much force, instantly taking her breath away. Buttercup's eyes widened as she got turned around and pushed up against the wall. She dug her nails in his shoulders as he hungrily explored her mouth with his tongue, pulled back for a second to let her breathe, then continued. As if he was healing it.

They ended up in Butch's bed that night. Unholy things were said and done. The morning came by fast, midday was filled with laughter, stories, tears and comfort. And they returned to the roof that evening.

The sky went from pink to black, stars were sprawled around. Buttercup reached up and pretended to grab the moon with her thumb and index finger. "Have you ever tried flying up to the moon?" she asked. Butch shook his head.

"I used to do it a lot when I was younger," she said. "I secretly grabbed a space suit from the lab and went up. The view is amazing. When you see the size of the earth up there, you realize how small you actually are."

She heard him chuckle. The comfortable silence returned, and she listened to his heartbeat.

Watching the sun go down with your head laying on someone's chest is nice. She hasn't felt that peaceful in years.

"The earth has been here for millions of years," Butch said. "A human life lasts only one hundred years, if everything goes well. Humans are so unbelievably small."

"I wonder how long our life span is," Buttercup mumbled. "Above or below the average human life span?"

"I don't know. And I don't care, really."

"Why not?" She asked. Butch turned his head to look at her.

"Death is pretty much floating around with the people you've died with. Or the people who already died before you lost your life. When I died, I was with my brothers. It doesn't sound that bad, does it? But I hated it, because we never achieved anything in our lives. We failed our creator, and the thought of that kept haunting us. Then we got resurrected."

He looked back at the sky. "Then the whole depression thing happened. And I couldn't kill myself. Because if I did, I would be alone. I would be alone with the thoughts of never being able to achieve anything. And that scared me so much, that I'd rather stay alive. But now..."

He sighed and smiled. "If we died now, I would be okay with it. Because I found happiness, and being with you for eternity sounds like heaven to me."

**[[[If you constantly have thoughts of suicide, harm yourself, feel like there's no-one who puts you in the first place, or ANYTHING like that, don't be afraid to send me a private message. Talking about it with someone who understands you helps. And I'll understand you. Because I've been in the same shoes as you're walking in right now. Just message me. I won't judge you, I promise.]]]**


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